The Awakening and Selected Short Stories

Kate Chopin

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• Publié par: dodil
• Publié le: 08 décembre 2010
• Nombre de lectures: 26
• Langue: English

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Project Gutenberg's The Awakening and Selected Short Stories, by Kate Chopin
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Title: The Awakening and Selected Short Stories
Author: Kate Chopin
Release Date: March 11, 2006 [EBook #160]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE AWAKENING AND SELECTED ***
Produced by Judith Boss and David Widger
THE AWAKENING
AND SELECTED SHORT STORIES
by Kate Chopin
With an Introduction by Marilynne Robinson
Contents
THE AWAKENING
I XI XXI XXXI
II XII XXIIII XII XXII XXXII
III XIII XXIII XXXIII
IV XIV XXIV XXXIV
V XV XXV XXXV
VI XVI XXVI XXXVI
VII XVII XXVII XXXVII
VIII XVIII XXVIII XXXVIII
IX XIX XXIX XXXIX
X XX XXX
BEYOND THE BAYOU
MA'AME PELAGIE
I
II
III
IV
DESIREE'S BABY
A RESPECTABLE
WOMAN
THE KISS
A PAIR OF SILK
STOCKINGS
THE LOCKET
I
II
A REFLECTION
THE AWAKENINGI
A green and yellow parrot, which hung in a cage outside the door, kept
repeating over and over:
"Allez vous-en! Allez vous-en! Sapristi! That's all right!"
He could speak a little Spanish, and also a language which nobody
understood, unless it was the mocking-bird that hung on the other side of the
door, whistling his fluty notes out upon the breeze with maddening
persistence.
Mr. Pontellier, unable to read his newspaper with any degree of comfort,
arose with an expression and an exclamation of disgust.
He walked down the gallery and across the narrow "bridges" which
connected the Lebrun cottages one with the other. He had been seated
before the door of the main house. The parrot and the mockingbird were the
property of Madame Lebrun, and they had the right to make all the noise they
wished. Mr. Pontellier had the privilege of quitting their society when they
ceased to be entertaining.
He stopped before the door of his own cottage, which was the fourth one
from the main building and next to the last. Seating himself in a wicker rocker
which was there, he once more applied himself to the task of reading the
newspaper. The day was Sunday; the paper was a day old. The Sunday
papers had not yet reached Grand Isle. He was already acquainted with the
market reports, and he glanced restlessly over the editorials and bits of news
which he had not had time to read before quitting New Orleans the day
before.
Mr. Pontellier wore eye-glasses. He was a man of forty, of medium height
and rather slender build; he stooped a little. His hair was brown and straight,
parted on one side. His beard was neatly and closely trimmed.
Once in a while he withdrew his glance from the newspaper and looked
about him. There was more noise than ever over at the house. The main
building was called "the house," to distinguish it from the cottages. The
chattering and whistling birds were still at it. Two young girls, the Farival
twins, were playing a duet from "Zampa" upon the piano. Madame Lebrun
was bustling in and out, giving orders in a high key to a yard-boy whenever
she got inside the house, and directions in an equally high voice to a dining-
room servant whenever she got outside. She was a fresh, pretty woman, clad
always in white with elbow sleeves. Her starched skirts crinkled as she came
and went. Farther down, before one of the cottages, a lady in black was
walking demurely up and down, telling her beads. A good many persons of
the pension had gone over to the Cheniere Caminada in Beaudelet's lugger
to hear mass. Some young people were out under the wateroaks playing
croquet. Mr. Pontellier's two children were there sturdy little fellows of four and
five. A quadroon nurse followed them about with a faraway, meditative air.
Mr. Pontellier finally lit a cigar and began to smoke, letting the paper drag
idly from his hand. He fixed his gaze upon a white sunshade that was
advancing at snail's pace from the beach. He could see it plainly between thegaunt trunks of the water-oaks and across the stretch of yellow camomile. The
gulf looked far away, melting hazily into the blue of the horizon. The
sunshade continued to approach slowly. Beneath its pink-lined shelter were
his wife, Mrs. Pontellier, and young Robert Lebrun. When they reached the
cottage, the two seated themselves with some appearance of fatigue upon the
upper step of the porch, facing each other, each leaning against a supporting
post.
"What folly! to bathe at such an hour in such heat!" exclaimed Mr.
Pontellier. He himself had taken a plunge at daylight. That was why the
morning seemed long to him.
"You are burnt beyond recognition," he added, looking at his wife as one
looks at a valuable piece of personal property which has suffered some
damage. She held up her hands, strong, shapely hands, and surveyed them
critically, drawing up her fawn sleeves above the wrists. Looking at them
reminded her of her rings, which she had given to her husband before leaving
for the beach. She silently reached out to him, and he, understanding, took
the rings from his vest pocket and dropped them into her open palm. She
slipped them upon her fingers; then clasping her knees, she looked across at
Robert and began to laugh. The rings sparkled upon her fingers. He sent
back an answering smile.
"What is it?" asked Pontellier, looking lazily and amused from one to the
other. It was some utter nonsense; some adventure out there in the water, and
they both tried to relate it at once. It did not seem half so amusing when told.
They realized this, and so did Mr. Pontellier. He yawned and stretched
himself. Then he got up, saying he had half a mind to go over to Klein's hotel
and play a game of billiards.
"Come go along, Lebrun," he proposed to Robert. But Robert admitted
quite frankly that he preferred to stay where he was and talk to Mrs. Pontellier.
"Well, send him about his business when he bores you, Edna," instructed
her husband as he prepared to leave.
"Here, take the umbrella," she exclaimed, holding it out to him. He accepted
the sunshade, and lifting it over his head descended the steps and walked
away.
"Coming back to dinner?" his wife called after him. He halted a moment
and shrugged his shoulders. He felt in his vest pocket; there was a ten-dollar
bill there. He did not know; perhaps he would return for the early dinner and
perhaps he would not. It all depended upon the company which he found over
at Klein's and the size of "the game." He did not say this, but she understood
it, and laughed, nodding good-by to him.
Both children wanted to follow their father when they saw him starting out.
He kissed them and promised to bring them back bonbons and peanuts.
II
Mrs. Pontellier's eyes were quick and bright; they were a yellowish brown,
about the color of her hair. She had a way of turning them swiftly upon anobject and holding them there as if lost in some inward maze of contemplation
or thought.
Her eyebrows were a shade darker than her hair. They were thick and
almost horizontal, emphasizing the depth of her eyes. She was rather
handsome than beautiful. Her face was captivating by reason of a certain
frankness of expression and a contradictory subtle play of features. Her
manner was engaging.
Robert rolled a cigarette. He smoked cigarettes because he could not afford
cigars, he said. He had a cigar in his pocket which Mr. Pontellier had
presented him with, and he was saving it for his after-dinner smoke.
This seemed quite proper and natural on his part. In coloring he was not
unlike his companion. A clean-shaved face made the resemblance more
pronounced than it would otherwise have been. There rested no shadow of
care upon his open countenance. His eyes gathered in and reflected the light
and languor of the summer day.
Mrs. Pontellier reached over for a palm-leaf fan that lay on the porch and
began to fan herself, while Robert sent between his lips light puffs from his
cigarette. They chatted incessantly: about the things around them; their
amusing adventure out in the water-it had again assumed its entertaining
aspect; about the wind, the trees, the people who had gone to the Cheniere;
about the children playing croquet under the oaks, and the Farival twins, who
were now performing the overture to "The Poet and the Peasant."
Robert talked a good deal about himself. He was very young, and did not
know any better. Mrs. Pontellier talked a little about herself for the same
reason. Each was interested in what the other said. Robert spoke of his
intention to go to Mexico in the autumn, where fortune awaited him. He was
always intending to go to Mexico, but some way never got there. Meanwhile
he held on to his modest position in a mercantile house in New Orleans,
where an equal familiarity with English, French and Spanish gave him no
small value as a clerk and correspondent.
He was spending his summer vacation, as he always did, with his mother
at Grand Isle. In former times, before Robert could remember, "the house&qu